"Jane Eyre"
by Charlotte Bronte

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     It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant when half-an-hour elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought myself to ring the bell.

     "Is there a place in this neighbourhood called Thornfield?" I asked of the waiter who answered the summons.

 

     "Thornfield? I don't know, ma'am; I'll inquire at the bar." He vanished, but reappeared instantly--

     "Is your name Eyre, Miss?"

     "Yes."

     "Person here waiting for you."

     I jumped up, took my muff and umbrella, and hastened into the inn-passage: a man was standing by the open door, and in the lamp-lit street I dimly saw a one-horse conveyance.

 
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